Mageborn

by Stephen Aryan

  When she looked deeper into the weave of Brunwal’s magic, Wren felt her stomach lurch in revulsion. All his attacks until now had been organic and, while destructive, they were natural; mostly weaves of force and fire. This was something utterly alien, so much so that Wren couldn’t understand what it was or how he’d done it.

  Instead of using brute force he’d switched to something forbidden and corrupt. Somehow he’d delved into magic that had been banned or perhaps it was conjured from his imagination. No teacher had ever taught him how to do this.

  The growing darkness in his hands twitched and stretched like a chrysalis, as if trying to give birth to something monstrous within. Wren could feel and smell it from across the room. The rotten stench of it filled her nose. Nearby she heard someone retching, their vomit spattering onto the stone floor.

  At the edges of her perception she could feel a raging torrent that was the Source. A limitless river of energy that ran through all living things, nurturing them as it, in turn, was replenished. The aberration that Brunwal was creating caused barely a ripple on the surface, but nevertheless she felt it enough to make her gag.

  To combat this feeling Wren stretched towards the Source with her senses and drew more power into her body until it felt as if she was bursting at the seams. The weariness from not sleeping for several days instantly vanished and her senses became heightened. Time seemed to slow and she was very aware of her heartbeat. It sounded so loud, as if it were filling the entire room. The energy fizzed as it coursed through her veins making her skin tingle, and her chest swelled as she was overcome with a sense of euphoria.

  With adrenaline coursing through her body, and her life on the line, channelling energy from the Source had never been so addictive. Wielding so much power made her feel immortal. But as Wren revelled in the feeling of being more than human, a part of her knew it was a lie.

  If she pushed herself just a fraction more, the power would burn her alive from the inside out, consuming her flesh and bones in the blink of an eye. Perhaps that was what Brunwal wanted. To panic her into destroying herself as she was much stronger than him.

  It was time to take the initiative and attack Brunwal, not wait for whatever he was creating. She felt him pulling together a shield, but instead of an attack Wren simply wrapped him in a shield of her own making. Working with both hands outstretched, fingers twitching as if she were controlling a pair of marionettes, Wren enveloped him in a cocoon denser than any she’d created before. Nothing would be able to penetrate it and with every passing second she added more layers on top. Then she began to squeeze.

  At first nothing happened but as she brought her will to bear, Brunwal began to sweat. He couldn’t maintain his own shield and keep feeding the thing hovering above his hands. A loud crack echoed around the room as Brunwal’s own shield shattered like a pane of glass. The moment it disappeared Wren squeezed again.

  “Help me!” he screamed at his friends. He couldn’t finish what he was doing and stop her at the same time. The Zecorran boy said something to the others and with some reluctance they all moved further away, distancing themselves from Brunwal. He cursed them and struggled vainly against Wren who now held his limbs in place until he became a living statue.

  She could feel him trying to regain control of his body, flexing his will, but her connection to the Source was stronger and she held him in place with ease. Brunwal must have lost concentration as the swirling black mass wobbled on its axis and then broke apart into a thousand pieces. As the first shard touched the shield she’d created around him Wren felt it from across the room, as if someone had dug a knife into her flesh. With a scream she fell back, staring in horror at the swollen cut that had opened up on her forearm.

  The shield around him vanished. Her cry of pain was lost in the noise coming from Brunwal as dozens of black motes touched his skin. He fell to the ground screeching so loudly it hurt her ears, but worse was what she saw. Each piece smouldered and then sank into his flesh, leaving a burning trail behind as if it were molten lava. The smell of scorched meat filled the room and she heard the bubble of fat as the corrosive substance ate its way through his body, dissolving flesh and melting muscle and bone with ease. She could see holes burned into his body and beneath that white bones and purple organs.

  It seemed to go on for ever, with Brunwal thrashing about on the floor keening in agony. She’d never known a human being could make such terrible sounds. Slowly he was being consumed by the darkness he had summoned. It ate through him and then sank into the stone floor beneath. She wondered if anything would stop it.

  A final wheeze made Brunwal’s body shudder and then he was finally still. His remaining eye stared at her accusingly.

  One of Brunwal’s friends moved to stand beside the body, the expression on his face unreadable. With a sudden howl of fury he drew a dagger from the small of his back and launched himself at Wren. Tianne was ready and easily tripped the boy, kicking out one of his legs. The blade went skittering away across the floor. Before he could try anything else Danoph tapped the boy on the side of his head with an open hand.

  The bully’s eyes widened in surprise, his jaw stretched open and he collapsed. Before Wren could ask what he’d done all of the lanterns in the room flared into life and Garvey came striding into the dormitory. He took one look at Wren and her friends before moving to stand over what remained of Brunwal.

  After everything that had happened she wasn’t sure what to expect from him. Anger would have been her first thought, or disappointment. Garvey hid it quickly but for a second Wren was sure he’d been smiling.

  CHAPTER 22

  The Khevassar did his best to make an impression as he marched down the corridors of the palace. Time, it seemed, was robbing him of everything, piece by piece. The Yerskani Royal Guards noticed him but paid little attention. They were all young, strong and had their whole lives in front of them. In their eyes he was just another old man, probably wandering the halls in a daze. None of them thought of him as a commanding presence. None of them were intimidated by his glare and no one stood at attention when he walked past.

  Pausing in front of an old portrait of Queen Morganse, he wondered where the time had gone. He clearly remembered walking down this hallway to her office on the day it had been painted. Instead of being seated behind her desk as usual, the Queen had been perched on an uncomfortable chair, wearing an elaborate dress. That was twenty years ago and yet sometimes it seemed as if so little time had passed.

  “Can I help you?” asked a kind voice.

  “No, I’m fine,” he said, trying to recall details about that day for just a little longer. It had rained that morning, he remembered. All the streets had been shining in the sunlight as if someone had painted them black in the night. Or perhaps the Maker had washed away all the blood and filth, giving the city a clean slate. A poetic image and definitely not his usual. Perhaps time was mellowing him after all.

  “Are you lost?” the voice asked again.

  Startled from his reverie, the Old Man turned his glare on the person interrupting his thoughts. The Khevassar found himself face to face with one of the Royal Guards who was looking at him as if he were senile. “Young lady, I have been navigating the corridors of this palace since before you learned to walk. Now stand aside.”

  He gave the guard his fiercest glare and was pleased to see her recoil as if she’d been slapped. Feeling smug he moved on, letting his feet guide him, not even thinking about where he was going. In the Queen’s outer office he received his second unpleasant surprise of the morning. The Queen’s ageing herald and assistant was absent and in his place sat a rotund, sweaty young man. The Khevassar didn’t even need to ask what had happened. The new secretary seemed at home and familiar with everything around him, reaching for objects on the desk without looking up from the page.

  He continued scratching out a note as the Old Man came to stand in front of his desk. Thinking he would have to educate this new secretary, just as he was
doing with his own replacement for Rummpoe, the Khevassar loudly cleared his throat.

  The secretary glanced up and immediately came to his feet. The Old Man would’ve liked to believe he saw the other man sweat a little at having him so close, but it was difficult to tell. Sweating seemed to be his main hobby.

  “Please take a seat, Sir,” he stammered, gesturing at several of the chairs around the room. “I will let her Majesty know you are here. Immediately.”

  Thinking he had perhaps misjudged the man, the Khevassar let his glare fade a little. “What’s your name, boy?”

  “Dorn, Sir.”

  “I like a young person with manners.”

  “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir,” he said, knocking loudly and then slipping inside the Queen’s office. The Old Man harrumphed and sat down, resting his legs for a minute.

  He noted how the boy had swallowed and wiped at his face before knocking. He should have known. Queen Morganse was not one to suffer fools gladly. The boy was terrified of her, not scared of an old codger like him. Pride, it seemed, was something that had not been taken from him just yet.

  Morganse had always been headstrong and determined. It was one of the many things he admired about her. Perhaps he should have taken a firmer hand with the new Rummpoe from the beginning.

  Dorn emerged a few minutes later and held the door open wide. “Her Majesty will see you now, Sir.”

  As he entered the room Queen Morganse stood up and came around from behind her desk to shake his hand. She didn’t need to do it, and etiquette dictated that he should bow or salute, but it was a sign of her affection for him. They’d known each other for so long that he thought of her like family. “That will be all, Dorn,” said the Queen, dismissing her secretary. Once the doors were closed and they were away from prying eyes she kissed him on the cheek and gave him a hug.

  As ever she was impeccably dressed, her hair tied back from her face and her sapphire silk dress was both flattering and elegant. He sometimes forgot that she was already a grandmother.

  “Please, sit down,” she said gesturing at the chairs in front of her desk. “Tea?”

  “I should be the one to serve you, Majesty.”

  “Nonsense,” said Morganse, pouring two glasses before sitting down in the chair beside him.

  “I was thinking about your portrait out there,” he said. “Sometimes it seems like yesterday. You’ve barely changed.”

  “If only,” laughed Morganse, touching her hair. There was still plenty of colour in it, even if there was some white around the ears. “We’re all a little more grey and saggy than back then.”

  For a little while they merely sat together, sipping tea and talking of happier times. Since he had no family to speak of they talked about her children and the latest achievements of her grandchildren. Far too soon their levity faded as the conversation inevitably returned to the present and more sobering events.

  “One of my people sent me a report last night about another incident in Zecorria,” said the Queen, setting down her glass. “It was a young girl this time. She exploded while being tested, killing herself and thirty people in her town. The Seeker was injured, but he managed to escape before the locals turned on him.”

  The Khevassar took a deep breath and rested his head against the back of his chair for a moment. He ran through the possible repercussions in his mind and could see only one likely outcome. “Has the Regent been in touch?”

  Morganse gestured at a letter at the front of her desk. The seal on it was broken but he recognised the Zecorran crest. “In a few days’ time he’s going to make a public announcement. There will be a national ban on Seekers in Zecorria.”

  On the one hand he couldn’t blame the Regent for making such a decision. He was neither rash nor insane, two traits the previous two rulers had possessed. However, he was also a popularist who had a tenuous grip on the crown. Far too often it seemed as if his decisions were based on what he thought the people wanted. Of course he believed that would ensure his continued stewardship of the throne until a suitable descendant came of age. The Khevassar wasn’t sure how long the Regent could manage to keep walking the tightrope before he fell.

  On the other hand, the national ban would put children with blossoming wild magic at risk. Looking beyond that everyone was at risk from the fear of magic. Someone with a grudge could accuse another of performing a mystical act and, without a Seeker to test the child, the outcome would depend only on who was the most convincing. That led to the bad old days of superstition before the war. Exile, public drownings and hanging over running water.

  “Did the Regent say anything else in his letter?”

  “It was quite the emotional appeal,” said Morganse, rubbing her temples to ease tension. “He has asked that I make a similar declaration here in Yerskania.”

  “Can I assume a similar missive has been sent to Queen Talandra and the others?”

  “I would think so. I’m sure I’ll hear from them very soon.”

  He didn’t think she would have invited him to the palace and served him tea only to ambush him. There was no requirement for her to consult with him, or anyone else for that matter, before making a declaration, but in all the years he’d worked for her, she’d yet to do it. Morganse always listened to the sage counsel of her advisers before making a decision, no matter the personal cost.

  Even so, something made him ask, “Have you already made a decision?” Her only response was to raise an eyebrow. “I apologise, I shouldn’t have asked.”

  She waved it away. “It’s all right. I will admit to having spent a great deal of time thinking about Seekers and the Red Tower of late. Have you seen this?” Morganse fished a report off her desk from the scattered papers and passed it across. He quickly scanned the contents and then set it aside. His own people had provided him with a more detailed version of events.

  “I’ve seen similar reports.”

  “It’s not only happening in Zecorria. If it were, I might be able to ignore the Regent’s appeal. There have been three incidents of Seekers being banned in villages, here, in my country. Today I received two more reports. One where a Seeker was chased out of a town after an explosion that left three dead and another where a Seeker was drowned in a river. The poor man didn’t even say anything. He was set upon by a mob, dragged from his horse on the road and killed.”

  A heavy silence settled on the room. Both of them were locked away in their minds, contemplating the future. That it was happening abroad was one thing. It was slightly removed and didn’t feel real. But for the Yerskani people to have gone against a royal decree, for them to ban Seekers, was a slap in the face. Even worse, a form of mob mentality was taking over here where the rule of law had always been respected.

  Eventually Morganse spoke again, but this time in a whisper, as if she were afraid that someone might overhear. Her words were clipped and she sounded tired.

  “I’ve received appeals from several city representatives. They want me to ban all Seekers from coming to Perizzi. Ban them, from my capital city.”

  Despite her best efforts to remain calm he could hear the heat creeping into her voice. The Khevassar knew that Morganse’s declaration of support, together with Queen Talandra, had led to Seekers restarting the monthly testing of children across the west and Seveldrom.

  At the beginning, so soon after the war, people had been worried about magic and the return of Seekers to their towns and villages. Morganse had taken suitable precautions to keep the peace. Members of the Watch had been discreetly stationed during every test, but, over time, when no accidents occurred they had become unnecessary. Now she was being asked to repeal her own declaration.

  “I’ve heard about another incident,” he admitted. Since she had been so honest and open it seemed churlish to hide one more violent incident. “A Seeker was attacked by a mob in Rojenne. There are mixed statements from witnesses, but several mention that he was bleeding quite badly when he fled.”

  “When did this
happen?”

  “Yesterday. I have someone looking into it,” he said. One witness reported the Seeker being helped away from the scene by a short woman, but he was waiting for confirmation that it was Munroe.

  “The people of Perizzi believe there is a real danger.”

  “As I said when we last met, there is more to this situation.” He had shared reports from several Guardians that mentioned strangers visiting towns and cities with the intent of stirring up trouble. With so much of it happening at once, in different places, there was no doubt in his mind that this was not a coincidence. There was a network of people behind it. He wasn’t sure how they were connected to one another, but he suspected they all had a personal reason to hate magic. The number of people who generally disliked magic users had only increased in the last ten years. Many in the west had died at the hands of the Warlock and his experiments, but many more because of the Battlemages.

  “Have you found anything more about who is behind it all?”

  The Khevassar wasn’t sure how much to tell her at this stage, but, given the appeal from the Regent of Zecorria, he could see time was running out. She would be forced to make a decision soon unless he could provide her with some convincing evidence.

  “One of my people apprehended one of the rabble-rousers. She’s bringing him in now for questioning and should be here any day.”

  “Well, that’s some good news.”

  The Khevassar licked his lips. He hated rumours, but right now that was all he had. “We also have a name. Habreel.”